


Shampoo Boy (Clean version)

by Animom



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-22
Updated: 2010-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animom/pseuds/Animom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joey is chronically broke. When an unusual job opens up under his nose, who is he to say no? ** Humor, with a little angst, and very faint subtext if you squint a certain way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yu-Gi-Oh is the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi and Konami, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect is intended by this fanfiction.

Joey Wheeler was good at paying attention to his surroundings. He was also lucky. The first was a result of growing up in a tough neighborhood. The second was a gift.

He had just walked past downtown Domino's very upscale Western style hair salon when he heard the shouting behind him. He turned, and a moment later a young woman with blue and purple hair exploded onto the sidewalk. "Fine! I quit!" she screamed, then stormed off across the street.

He noticed a tall person in a long white shirt taping a "Help Wanted" sign to the window next to the door of the salon.

Joey was lucky and attentive. He was also chronically broke.

He hurried into the salon, pulling the newly taped sign from the window and slapping it on the counter. "I see you need help."

The owner, a tall West Indian with long braided hair, eyed him. "Well, aren't you exuberant? What’s your name, twinkle?"

"Er, Joey."

"Well, Er-Joey," she (or maybe he, Joey wasn't sure) said, hand on chin, "Have you ever worked in a salon before?"

"Uh, well …"

"I didn't think so."

"Sorry. Stupid idea." Joey took the sign to the door and re-taped it.

"Strapped for cash eh? Your girlfriend’s one of those who need a new sparkly pretty thing every week?"

Joey shrugged. "Not exactly."

"Hm, I see. You a fast learner?"

"Sometimes."

"You know how to clean a toilet?"

Joey laughed, "Doesn't everybody?"

"Honey Eyes, you would be surprised how many members of royalty are out there lacking that knowledge." The owner folded strong-looking arms tipped with dark purple fingernails. "Usually I have the stylists shampoo the customers and sweep up, but my girl who just left was a stylist. It'll take me a while to replace her, so til then you can be my Maker of Coffee, my Sweeper of Floors, my Cleaner of the Bathrooms, and a shampoo boy when needed. Got it? Minimum wage plus tips. Day people go home at 6, so be here by then. You can call me Willoughby." Willoughby twirled a finger in the air, and at Joey's blank look added, "Take off your jacket and turn around."

Somewhat embarrassed, Joey complied.

"Well, aren't you just a _filet mignon!_ Wear black and white only tomorrow. Make it tight, and thank me later."

.

Next night, Joey slipped into the salon at 5:45, wearing a new white t-shirt and black pants.

The receptionist, applying gloss with a lip brush, yelled, "Willoughby!" Joey shifted from one foot to the other nervously until the owner breezed into the reception room "Oh look, it's ErJoey! From now we just call you Joseph, okay?"

Joey laughed and rubbed his neck. "OK."

"And tomorrow, you exchange that baggy baggy shirt for the smaller size, _certainement, a_nd thank me later."

The job was perfect. Joey swept the floor after every customer, kept the coffeepot full, the wastebaskets empty, and the bathroom spotless. Between customers he sat at the tiny computer desk in the supply room at the back of the salon and did his homework. On slow nights Willoughby let him practice his shampooing on whichever stylist wanted to be the guinea pig. He offered to answer the phones as well, but Willoughby guffawed and said, "Oh my no! We don't want potential clients to think they reaching a barber shop, Joseph!"

As time went on he found himself idle less. Certain of the customers started asking for him, first as a coffee refiller, and then as a shampooer. The first shampoos Joey was asked to do were supervised, Willoughby prompting Joey with pantomime and bringing the stylist over after the rinse, but after a while Joey graduated to doing towel-and-escort as well.

The first time one of the old ladies tucked a 1,000 yen note into his hand he almost fell over.

The first time one of the middle-aged men patted his knee he thought it was his imagination.

The first time one of the not-at-all old ladies rubbed the back of her hand on his ass while he was lathering her, however, he jumped back. Willoughby gave him a meaningful look that said, "Just suck it up." Joey conditioned and rinsed, keeping calm as he toweled and wrapped her head, and then helped her sit up. She squeezed his thigh, flashed a 10,000 yen note, then tucked it deep into the front pocket of his tight black jeans before she stood up.

After she was ensconced at the stylist station, Willoughby crooked a finger and then pointed to the supply room. Joey followed.

"It's part of the job, Joseph." Willoughby's voice was low, pitched so the customers would not hear.

Joey shook his head. "Getting groped is part of the job? It makes me feel kinda like a …"

"Shush shush, don't say that nasty word. Give that dirty money to one of the girls then. Or me. Or some charity."

"I suppose." He sighed.

"Joseph, sweetness," Willoughby said, "Most of them are so lonely, you know? They just need a little touch, now and again. A little chance to be a little naughty." Willoughby patted Joey's shoulder. "And really, who can blame them? You're so delicious!"

.

Joey's fears that he would be let go as soon as Willoughby hired a new stylist turned out to be premature. The stylists appreciated having someone to do the dirty work, and the evening hours were always solidly booked. Willoughby gave him keys so that he could lock up after cleaning the salon, and after a few weeks asked if he wanted to work at all on the weekend.

"Sure, I can always use the extra cash." The slowly-growing stash of bills from his tips meant that he'd soon be able to drop his newspaper delivery job, and the dream of owning his own motorbike was getting closer and closer.

Around noon on his second Saturday he was restocking the shampoo stations with clean towels when he heard a familiar voice up front. "Can you squeeze me in, pleeeeease?"

"For you, angel, anything," he heard Chantay say, then, "Let's go back and get our new shampoo boy Joseph to take care of you."

"A _shampoo boy?_ No way? Is he gay?" he heard Mokuba say, just before he and Chantay came around the partition into the shampoo area.

"Hey Mo – "

"Joey?" Mokuba cut him off. "Wow, you look really HB in those tight clothes."

"So, what am I doing for this young man, Chantay?" he asked as he steered Mokuba to a chair. "The monkey brain shampoo, and the fish head conditioner?"

Chantay rolled her eyes and walked away.

"Don't break my cover," Mokuba whispered as Joey tucked the towel around his neck and eased his head back. "They don't know who I am in here."

"Gotcha." He grinned down at Mokuba while he waited for the water to warm. "C'mon, these clothes don't make me look _that_ gay, do they?"

"Nah. You look like a busboy."

Joey chuckled and began to wet the thick black hair. "Geez, dude, you got enough hair for three people."

"Yeah, Chantay says she loves to comb my hair because it's _luxurious_." Mokuba blushed a little. "Make sure to use the shampoo with the Greek foot soldier – that's my special brand. But no conditioner."

"But conditioner helps detangle – ah, I got it. Tangles mean more combing time with Chantay." Joey winked. "OK your Highness, be right back." Joey dried his hands on a towel and went into the supply room.

Willoughby was doing payroll.

"Didn't I see a box with a naked soldier holding a shield in here somewhere?" Joey asked.

"Oh, so the prince is back?" Willoughby replied, stabbing at the ancient adding machine with the eraser end of a pencil.

"Prince?"

"You're getting it for a black-haired wildboy, _n'cest pas?_ His family's loaded, father's some sort of diplomat."

Joey almost laughed. It made a weird sort of sense that Mokuba would invent diplomats for his pretend parents, since his big brother was the most _un_diplomatic person in existence.

"We import Thessaloniki Sea shampoo and conditioner just for him," Willoughby was saying. "So so expensive, such crazy ingredients. Squid ink and black kelp extract and truffle oil and frankincense, oh my." Willoughby tapped a few keys, then fed check blanks into the printer. "When we asked him why he wanted that brand he said he liked the soldier on the label."

.

After Mokuba left the rest of the day flew by. Willoughby was running the charge for the last customer when the phone rang. "Sure, we'd be happy to, I'll have someone stay. Just rung the bell." As soon as the customer had left, "Joseph, sweetheart – " Willoughby began.

"Yes, no problem, and I thank you later," Joey said with a grin, sweeping up tufts of black, brown, red, blond, gray, pink, and blue hair. "I have keys. When are they coming?"

"Within the hour, I'd guess. They said they out of conditioner, has a flight in the morning, generous tip, and so on so on."

"Shoo. Have fun with Randolph. I'll see you on Tuesday," Joey said as he began cleaning the mirrors.

"_Au 'voir,_ pet."

.

An hour had passed. Joey had cleaned every inch of the salon, washed the coffeemaker and dusted all the bottles. He was not yet desperate enough to begin reading the salon's various beauty and makeup magazines, but as he sat half dozing at the front desk he knew he was getting close.

From the corner of his eye he saw a car pull up to the curb in front of the salon. He yawned, shook out his keys, and went to unlock the door – and froze.

"No fricking way," he breathed.

.

_~ to be continued ~_

.

A/N: This story is the result of a chat I had today with **the_lost_ogg** over a topic at the **jou_loves_kaiba** Live Journal community about the many professions Jounouchi has been given in fanfics. Both of us were bitten by plot bunnies to write a fic with a profession not on the list at the time we were chatting.

_ Idea: 21 July 2010; first post 24 July 2010; revised 23 May 2017 _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yu-Gi-Oh is the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi and Konami, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect is intended by this fanfiction.

Joey flipped the deadbolt and yanked the salon door open.

"What the hell do you want?"

Kaiba glanced sourly at Joey's tight white t-shirt and black pants, then pushed past him into the salon. "I'm here to pick this up," he said, handing a slip of paper to Joey, which read _6 each thessaloniki sea shampoo and cdtnr._

"You gotta be kidding me," Joey said, locking the front door. He snatched a shopping bag from under the counter and walked into the darkness toward the salon's supply room. "Since when do you do errands?" Not expecting a reply, he snapped on the supply-room light and took down the box, then booted the computer.

"You need a computer to help you count?" Kaiba scoffed from the doorway.

"No, I need the computer to see how much money to charge you for this," he said as he transferred bottles from the box to the bag. He was determined not to let Kaiba get the upper hand, which meant staying calm.

Kaiba strolled over to the computer as Joey was putting the half-empty box of Thessaloniki Sea back on the shelf. "You call this a computer? It belongs in an antiques shop. Or a scrap heap."

"Well, Kaiba, not everyone needs top-of-the-line equipment to do their job. For what we do, it works." He elbowed Kaiba out of the way to check the price on the shampoo, then shut the computer down, picked up the shopping bag, and left the supply room, flicking the lights off with the small satisfaction of leaving Kaiba in the dark.

"So," Kaiba asked with his customary contemptuous half-laugh as he followed, "What is it that _you_ do here? Clean the toilets?"

"Yep." Joey sat at the reception desk and started to write up a bill.

"Must be a relief that you found something you have the skills for."

Joey punched the adding machine, ignoring the goad. "One million, two hundred and forty-eight thousand yen." He shook his head as Kaiba took out a checkbook and began writing the check. It would take him months and months of being groped by customers – hell, maybe even a year – to get that much money, and yet Kaiba was dropping it on shampoo without blinking an eye.

As he took the check he saw Willoughby's copperplate handwriting on a faded piece of paper taped out of sight of customers: _Si travay te bon bagay, moun rich ta prann l lontan_. – _If work were a good thing, the rich would've grabbed it a long time ago_. "House painter, carpenter, cell phone salesman, cook, cleaner, landscaper, lifeguard, newspaper delivery, security guard, software tester ... and shampoo boy."

"What?"

"Just some of the things I've done besides clean toilets." Of course, no way in hell was he going to mention to Kaiba that, at his lowest point, he'd also spent two nights dancing in a loincloth at the GrapeVine, which led to a really _really_ weird weekend as a spare flogger in a low-budget porn movie. He was pretty sure that desperation wasn't a concept that Kaiba could ever understand.

Kaiba seemed taken aback for a second, then clicked his pen, and put it and his checkbook back into his jacket. "Obviously you did none of those well, or you'd still be doing them."

"Most of them were helping friends out, or lucking into short-term gigs."

Kaiba turned to go.

"Don't forget Mokuba's shampoo," Joey said, holding up the shopping bag.

"Carry it to my car," Kaiba said, his back to Joey.

"Like hell," Joey said. "I'm not your slave."

"I'm a customer."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to kiss your ass."

Kaiba turned, disdainful, "But you would if I _paid_ you to, is that it?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Kaiba smiled in a very unpleasant way. "Shampoo boy, eh?"

Joey grabbed the shopping bag and stormed around the counter. "Where's your car?" He knew damn well that it was parked in front of the salon, but he'd needed to say _something_.

"Out front." Kaiba put his hand over the deadbolt, seemingly daring Joey to tussle with him if he wanted to unlock the door. "I hope your shampooing is better than your dueling."

"Even better. Now quit screwing around and move your hand."

"Show me."

"What?"

"Lather me up, _shampoo boy_," Kaiba said with a sneer.

"No way in hell." Joey tugged at Kaiba's arm, but he was immovable.

"Afraid to?"

"Afraid? What a – " Joey dropped the shopping bag. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just finish this stupid head-game so that I can go home." He strode to the sinks, started running the water, and grabbed a towel. He heard Kaiba walk towards him, cloth rustling as he took off his jacket and tie and shirt and set them on a chair.

He ground his teeth as Kaiba sat down. He wasn't sure if he was more angry or nervous to have Kaiba sitting there, taunting him in his undershirt, but either way if he lost it then Kaiba would win. All he needed to do was pretend that Kaiba was just like any other customer, and do his job. At least he didn't have to worry about being groped.

He folded the towel and slid it around Kaiba's neck and under his hair. "Lean back." Nope, there was no Kaiba here, there was just a head of hair that needed to be wetted. Medium coarseness, medium thickness. Completely and totally average, really, which struck Joey as funny.

'What?" Kaiba asked sharply.

"Nothing. You have a favorite brand of shampoo?"

"No." Kaiba frowned, as if the question was distasteful, and then said, "Nothing scented."

"Alright." Joey poured the salon's hypoallergenic house brand into his palm, rubbed his hands together to coat his fingers, and then began to work the shampoo into a lather.

Once he'd got past his initial embarrassment, he'd found that he looked forward doing shampoos. The feel and squelchy sound of the sudsy hair, the soft hiss of the running water, the thin skin of the scalp such a delicate protection for the hard skull beneath – it always took him out of himself, like meditation. He'd done it enough that he now had his routine perfected, alternating scalp massage with combing the lather through the hair with his fingers, mixing it up here and there by rubbing light circles on the customer's temples with his thumbs.

And then Kaiba shifted impatiently and cleared his throat, and Joey realized that he was getting carried away.

He quickly rinsed the hair, applied minimal conditioner, worked it though, then took a second towel and began to dry Kaiba's hair. After a few seconds Kaiba sat up, his back ramrod straight. Joey took a wide tooth comb, and, feeling mischievous now, stood in front of him to comb the brown bangs straight back, away from Kaiba's face. "Wow, you look like a whole different person."

"Done?" was all the brunet said. When Joey nodded Kaiba stood, put his shirt and tie and jacket back on, walked to the front, picked up the shopping bag, flipped the deadbolt, and left.

He didn't touch his hair the entire time.

Joey developed a slow grin as he wiped out the sink, and laughed out loud as he tossed the damp towels into the hamper. He got it. He'd treated Kaiba like any other customer, and Kaiba hadn't resisted because it seemed that, for all his arrogance and bluster, underneath it all he _was_ like a lot of them. Hell, maybe he even understood desperation. What had Willoughby said? _"Most of them are so lonely, you know. They just need a little touch, now and again. A little chance to be a little naughty." _

As he locked up the salon and started the walk home, he pulled out his cell phone and, still grinning from his victory, pressed Willoughby's number. He wasn't surprised to get voicemail – Willoughby had said something about taking Randolph out clubbing – so after the beep he said simply, "This is Joey. I thank you now."

.

.

_~ The end ~_

.

**Author's Notes**

¥ 1,248,000 comes to about $100 USD per bottle.

There are shampoo videos on YouTube. Just closeups. Of shampooing. With descriptions of "lots of close-up hair action" and notes about when various shampoo phases happen (e.g., "creme rinse at 5:47"). I find this fetish oddly charming for some reason. Surprising what happens when you google "shampoo boy" and then follow the free links from that site.

The GrapeVine existed in Chicago in the mid-70s.

P.S. I happen to like this chapter "as is", but for those "unsatisfied" with this ending, there is an expanded version on AFF with an additional scene.

A thank-you to my beta Rroselavy.

Idea: 21 July 2010  
(05) 19 Feb 2011


End file.
